The Fires of Lindisfarne
by The Sterling Dragon
Summary: Scandia's death has brought about an end to an era for his three sons; Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. Now they must cope without his guidance through one of the most volatile times in history: the era of the Vikings. Did the fires of the Holy Island really die down with the absence of physical fuel? Or did they become a different kind of fire, like... one fueled by unstable emotions?


I know what you people are probably thinking 'doesn't this crazy person have enough stories going on to be writing another one?' The answer: Yes, I do have to many stories going on right now. The only problem is that I have no inspiration for any of them so now you get this one as well!

Note: The chapters for this will probably be slow and infrequent as this was originally supposed to be a one-shot and is not in any way, shape, or form supposed to be historically accurate. It's just what our favorite Vikings would be going though after Scandia's death

I don't own Hetalia… yet *cue evil laughter*

* * *

The fires in Lindisfarne, England had only begun to die down casting the once navy velvet like sky into a sickly polluted orange color, smoke clogging the stars. It was nowhere near to the wounded hearts of three brothers as they cast their father out on his final voyage on his funeral pyre. The three were now short, by both supplies and a means of a way home. Home. It was now a word that rang hollow through the three young brothers' minds. It was the one place they could go to lick their metaphorical wounds, even if the memories that it held would be more destructive to them in the long run. They watched as the burning mass of wood disintegrated, falling away from view over the crest of the horizon. Denmark leaned heavily on his fa- no; it was now his battle-axe. The young Dane was shaking uncontrollably staring wide-eyed before him, almost as if finally comprehending the full extent of the situation at hand. His father was dead. There was no coming back. It was final; he'd never see his _far_ again. He vaguely noticed Sweden standing beside him, also leaning heavily on his weapon of choice, his jaw clenched as he stared down the horizon, almost pleading for it to return his father to him. Norway was not to be found, at least in Denmark's blurred field of vision, though to him that was a good thing. He didn't want to see his pathetic excuse for a brother. It was enough that his brother had killed their father; after all he hadn't even been able to heal him.

Norway stood further away from his brothers, not having the courage of facing them at the moment. It was hard enough with Denmark's words going through his mind in a continuous loop. It _was _his fault, wasn't it? It was enough to make the young Norwegian almost want to be physically sick. But he knew that it wouldn't happen… no matter how much he wished it was different there was no way for him to purge those feelings from his system, and he wasn't going to be emotional about it either. Even with his walls ripped away from him it was almost as if he didn't want to face the world ever again for fear that this one weak moment of his life he would find himself lost in the obnoxiously strong current of the ocean as it swept him away.

Shaking himself from his mind the blond nation stood and descended down the rocky shore to where his brothers were amongst the other Vikings attempting to find themselves a way home. Norway scoffed. Who'd want to take them anyway? They were barely Vikings to begin with. It wasn't like they'd be able to compare with them in any way shape or form. Wait. Norway's blue eyes narrowed. His brothers had just managed to find them a way home. While yes, it was somewhat impressive Norway couldn't help but feel useless. They had gone off and done something without finding him first. Numbly his approached the two older blonds, who abruptly broke off their conversation with each other and turned towards Norway. Denmark fixated him with a harsh glare that seemed to have every ounce of loathing the Dane could muster channeled into it, which was currently a lot, mind you. Sweden on the other hand was kinder to his brother and just stared seemingly though him not completely acknowledging him and yet not completely ignoring him either. Norway sighed. It was going to be a long way back to their home.

* * *

_Hetalia_

* * *

The three barely managed to step off of the ship to the dock before the people of their village were questioning them about the whereabouts of their father. Naturally the brothers didn't want to answer them, and their seemingly insensitive questions. So they left the explaining to the other Vikings who told them that their father fell in battle. It was a death that they agreed they would not readily talk about around the three. Though they weren't around to hear of that. The brothers had already begun walking back down the dirt path, solemn expressions on their faces as they each tried to imagine life without their father. It was an entirely new concept to them, as it had never crossed their minds that they'd be without a father. Now they had been thrown into the world without his guidance. Even Norway, who had been the one who would be on his bad side more often then not was worried as to what would happen to them now without anyone to teach them what was right and what was wrong. To him it was near cruelty, especially since the last thing they'd done was fight over if he should have even been in the raid to begin with. After all he had felt under the weather when they had arrived in England, the only way that they had agreed to let him fight was if he had stayed close to Scandia. Though seeing as Norway didn't want to listen, he snuck off. If only he'd stayed by his father he might still be alive. He might have been able to... no. Norway shook his head in guilt as his thoughts threatened to consume him once more.

It was then that he realized that he'd almost walked right into Sweden, who had stopped in front of the door to their home, a hesitant expression on his countenance. They were all reluctant to enter and after much debating on who would enter first the two older blonds practically threw Norway into their home. The Norwegian was assaulted almost immediately with memories of their father. It was so overwhelming it took the fact that his pride was on the line to keep him from turning tail and leaving the house as soon as he could. There was just too much, and it wasn't like he could get out, Denmark was blocking the doorway.

The youngest blond barely had anytime to make eye contact with his eldest brother before he couldn't take the sight of their shared memories any longer and he turned and sprinted away. Sweden sighed, his face looking strained as he turned as well and walked away, his already bright marine eyes shining even more then what would have been considered normal.


End file.
